


they did not deserve to die

by theoreticlove



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fingolfin’s Duel With Morgoth, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticlove/pseuds/theoreticlove
Summary: fingolfin has lost many family members.





	they did not deserve to die

Finwë had fallen to Morgoth, the first of a long line. Only trying to do what was right. Only trying to protect the most beloved possession of his eldest son. He had not deserved the cruel, merciless death he had been fated to receive.

Fëanáro had fallen also, not by Morgoth’s hands but in combat against Morgoth, slain by the mighty Lord of Balrogs. Though he had a temper, though he had done terrible, cruel things, though he was not the elf he had once been, he had not deserved this death either. He deserved to have redeemed himself, to have seen the war he so believed in through. He had had eyes that burned with emotion, and the emptiness in the eyes of Curufin, the son most alike to him, after his death, was haunting. For all Fëanáro was troublesome, his death was not a solution.

Elenwë had fallen on the Grinding Ice. This, too, was not by the hands of Morgoth, but an indirect result of his actions. He would be held responsible. Now, Idril would grow up without a mother, Turukano doomed to spend his life without the woman he loved. That was no way to leave a family.

Arakano had fallen also, in battle also, heroically. It did not matter, however, how he had fallen. He had still been so very, very young. Hardly old enough to make the decision to follow his family to Arda. Certainly not old enough to die in the horrors of war, fighting valiantly.

Hundreds of noble elves, of kind elves, of smart and talented and brave elves, had fallen or been made thralls to Morgoth, or to his servants. Was this the life the rest of them would be subject to? To die like those before them in a war that would remain unwon, not for lack of courage, but for lack of ability to even see Morgoth? Was this to be their fate?

Finwë Ñolofinwë, High King of the Ñoldor, drew his sword.

And he cried, with all the strength he had, all the strength his people carried, day in, day out in this miserable war, with all the strength he could find in his rage:

'Come, open wide,   
dark king, your ghastly brazen doors!  
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!  
Come forth, O monstrous craven lord,   
and fight with thine own hand and sword,   
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls,   
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,  
thou foe of Gods and elvish race!   
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!' 

Then Morgoth came.

**Author's Note:**

> text taken from the works of J.R.R. Tolkien


End file.
